


The Lost Boy and His Books

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for hipster Castiel. I carried away with this one as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Boy and His Books

Castiel sighs as the meathead stoops over his desk again, examining the book in his hands.

“What are you reading?”

“A book,” Castiel responds, pumping as much sarcasm as he can muster into his tone.

The douchebag grunts something unintelligible before a freckled hand enters Castiel’s vision taking the book from his hands. He flounders after it pathetically; clumsy fingers not quick enough to catch his copy of ‘Cat’s Cradle’.

He glances up to the kid, Winchester he thinks his name was, and immediately shifts his eyes back to the desk, just as he has each time the dick tried to spark conversation. He’ll give the guy props for his looks; nice easy going smile, bright green eyes, a splash of freckles over the bridge of his nose, and spikey blonde tipped hair. Despite his looks, however, Castiel prefers to associate with people who actually have more than one functioning brain cell.

“You like Vonnegut?” the guy asks, and Castiel briefly recalls his name is Dean… or something like Dean.

“Yeah, you know his work?”

The guy, Castiel decides on Dean regardless of his uncertainty, nods and settles the book back onto Castiel’s desk, reaching behind himself to grab a chair. The legs grate over the floor painfully, and Castiel recoils at the harshness. Dean mutters a quiet apology before resting his elbows atop Castiel’s notebooks and obnoxiously clearing his throat.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, a hint of curiosity creeping into his tone.

Castiel glances back into the attractive kid’s eyes, searching for any hint of teasing or mockery based on his relatively obscure tastes. When he finds none, he decides to answer honestly. “All of them.”

Dean’s plump lips part slightly from the admission; Castiel knows it’s a lot, but come on. He hardly has a life outside of books and British television; Dean must be slow. He decides to lessen the girth of his admission by narrowing the list down to one book.

“My favorite is Slaughterhouse Five,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. God, why the hell is he being so damn _coy_? He doesn’t believe he’s like this with other people; what makes this jock any more special? He clears his throat before turning his eyes back to the handsome kid beside him.

“Why are you talking to me?” He scrutinizes Dean’s face for any sign of teasing or mockery. Castiel just doesn’t speak openly with these sorts of people; as a matter of fact, the only time he even bothers speaking to people like Dean is when they pull him below the bleachers with inquiries about blowjobs.

Dean, however, shows none of these signs when his brows knit together over his widened, fully lashed eyes. His lips jut out in a pensive grimace, contemplating his answer. After a moment, his face fades from the troubled expression to one of contentness and he answers.

“Because you’re interesting.”

Castiel feels his breathing stop, but doesn’t really notice it. His heart thuds in his chest lazily, as though some colossal hand has wrapped around it and just _squeezed_. He couldn’t have said interesting; _no one_ thinks Castiel is interesting. He’s just another cog in the ‘mainstream’ machine. Even his friends… what’s left of them find him tedious.

Which is why he’s all the more taken aback when the attractive jock bends down and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Castiel snaps out of his daze and pushes himself away from the perfect stranger, feeling the shock color his face a fluorescent hue of scarlet. He searches for words, anything, that could admonish the dumbass for touching him.

He comes up blank. His hand wanders to his face to hold his cheek.

Dean’s face is reddening as well, a lovely peachy hue brightening those constellations splattered across his face. His lips shift from awkward smiles to nervous grins and back again, making the circle incredibly confusing for Castiel to interpret.

He’s been kissed. And not in the hasty ‘let’s fuck’ way, but the gentle ‘I kind of like you’ way.

His first _real_ kiss.

“What was…” Castiel murmurs, unable to tear his eyes from the guy standing in front of him. His lips twitch with questions he can’t voice, can’t even form in his mind. Dean, however, seems to understand and nods fervently.

“I, uh…” He begins, eyes shifting from left to right with a speed Castiel had thought impossible. “I’ve just had… I kinda like you, okay?”

Castiel watches as Dean’s face brightens from that easy peachy blush to a brighter, coyer flush. It’s almost adorable, how such a handsome face can shift to such an innocent expression. It’s almost adorable, but Castiel isn’t easy to impress.

“You like me?” Castiel asks, finally finding his voice despite how squeaky it comes out. “You don’t even know my name!”

“Your name’s Cas, and you like to read _real_ books like Hemingway and Vonnegut and you won’t admit it, but Harry Potter is your favorite series. You love Star Trek and you… are into men. Also, I swear to fucking God that I’m not a stalker.”

Castiel stands taken aback not for the first time by the strange Winchester boy; has he really been this open with his affairs? He doesn’t recall having read Harry Potter since freshman year, and he doesn’t remember being really obvious about it. Though, Dean is correct about it being his favorite series…

“You’re Dean Winchester. You love working on that sexy car that’s parked in the lot. I didn’t know you liked Vonnegut, but I’ll bet he’s one of your favorites if you can recognize his work by peeking at a line on the book. I am also not a stalker.”

The words leave Castiel’s lips without his permission, his lungs gasping for air at the realization that maybe he hasn’t been so oblivious to the kid as he’d believed.

Maybe the feelings aren’t so one sided on Dean’s part.

The words come easily to Castiel when he discerns his feelings. They come clearer than anything Castiel has ever thought of before.

“Would you like to get burgers?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
